The Great Wizarding Game
by The Carnivorous Muffin
Summary: In which Minerva McGonagall tries and fails to get Tom to appreciate the intricacies, strategies, and passion that exists in quidditch. side fic to "October"


**Author's Note: To those of you about to read this I offer the warning that this is a side fic for the very AU October. However, that being said, as this contains all canon characters and places you could read this and just assume this is a very OOC and tolerant Tom Riddle. Your decision either way.**

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"Well, at the very least it's… violent."

Minerva McGonagall was on a mission to teach him how to appreciate quidditch and it was not going well. That wasn't to say she wasn't trying, no she was putting in far too much effort, any sane woman would have given it up for a lost cause by now. No, the problem, Tom couldn't help but think to himself, was that she was taking it all far too seriously.

Every single Hogwarts quidditch game, whether it be Slytherin versus Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff versus Gryffindor, the Quidditch Cup match itself he was there sitting in the cold with children who seemed much younger than him listening to Minerva commentate the match.

She tried to make it sound interesting, adding in all these famous theories, moves, strategies that were supposedly taking place, to the point where quidditch almost resembled wizard's chess but that didn't change the fact that Tom was sitting there for hours watching fifteen year olds fly around on brooms looking for a golden ball.

It'd been stupid when he actually attended Hogwarts, it was just sort of sad now that he'd graduated.

"The violence isn't the point Tom, you have to stop paying so much attention to the beaters!" Minerva said, her own eyes deadly focused on the match, leaning forward on the edge of her seat her eyes flicking back and forth between the competitors.

He didn't know why she was so interested, it wasn't even her house playing, it was Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw and as far as Tom could tell neither were doing that well.

Or at least, that was all he could tell, with the snitch it made everything a bit more of a gamble. He'd once pointed out that the points scored by chasers didn't actually mean all that much considering the golden ball not only ended the game but also was worth 150 points on its own.

She hadn't appreciated that thought; Tom apparently had no appreciation for true art.

"My mistake, you see I'm afraid I can't actually tell the difference." And he couldn't, well he could point out the seeker, those were the ones that were just kind of floating there or else were being chased by the players with bats. The keepers were obvious enough, they stayed in front of the goals, but otherwise…

Well he just didn't care all that much.

He wished he'd been able to bring a book, he'd done that the last few times but he hadn't had as much sneaking it past Minerva, and she took her quidditch very seriously.

"Do we know when one of them is going to catch that bloody snitch?" He asked, they'd already been there a good while, surely one of them had caught sight of the blasted thing by now?

Tom had learned very early on to pay attention to the seekers because they were his best time estimate of when he would be able to leave. The better the seeker the sooner he would be out of there. Gryffindor had a good seeker this year, and as a result Tom found himself preferring the Gryffindor games, as those usually lasted less than an hour or so. It seemed that Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were lacking in that department, looking closer he noticed one was wearing glasses, near sighted.

That was the last thing he needed, some near sighted student looking for a golden ball to catch, they'd be there all day.

"Tom, you can't just predict something like that… I mean, well you can, but it's not exact and you should know that." Minerva tried to explain distractedly, her eyes caught on a skirmish mid field where there was much zigging and zagging on broom sticks.

(Tom had never really understood the point of flying, it seemed like such an easy way to die, just fall off and break your neck and there you went. Of course now that he was apparently immortal it no longer mattered as much, it didn't mean he'd willingly climb on a flying broomstick, and it didn't excuse the rest of them.)

"Well, Minerva, you're the quidditch expert. What do you think?"

"Well… Neither of them seem to have caught sight of it yet." Which was her way of saying that they were going to be sitting there, in the cold, for a very long time.

Nearsighted, a nearsighted seeker, what had their captain been thinking?

Tom sighed, placing his head into his hands, wondering if he couldn't just get up and leave halfway through. He could, of course, but was it worth the trouble? He unfortunately lived with Minerva which meant he couldn't always just brush her off, besides he'd tried before, and she'd talked about it for days afterwards.

Tom's eyes wandered through the stands, taking in the students chattering amongst themselves and watching the game. They looked so much younger than him, even though it had only been a few years since he and Minerva had graduated, but so much had happened since then. Even while attending Hogwarts he'd always felt so much older than his peers; he could hardly relate to them at all.

A few girls, probably somewhere between their fifth and seventh years, caught his glance and giggled at each other their faces flushing. His eyebrows raised and they pretended they hadn't noticed him all while surreptitiously glancing in his direction.

There was nothing like Hogwarts to remind you that you were teenage girl eye candy.

And to also spread rumors that you were the Transfiguration apprentice's mysterious handsome boyfriend.

"Have they caught it yet?" Tom asked and Minerva turned to glare at him.

"No, Tom, they haven't caught it yet." She was going into frustrated Scottish brogue; that was never a good sign, "Now stop asking and start watching, then you might see when they catch it."

So Tom was left with two major options. One was to sit there, endure, try to think of something else and bide his time until the bloody thing was over. The other was to just leave and tolerate whatever came later because of it.

On the one hand he'd spent plenty of time here already but on the other hand it didn't seem to be ending any time soon and it wasn't getting any warmer or any more interesting. He glanced over at the field to find that they were all still flying back and forth on broomsticks and the seekers were still just sort of floating around.

"Nope, I'm sorry Minerva but I can't do this." He stood and without further ado made his way down the stands causing the two girls from earlier to flush and giggle even more than before. He ignored them and instead made his way to the stairs that would lead him out of the stadium.

"Wait, Tom, where're you going?" Minerva shouted after him and he turned back to address her before leaving.

"I'll be in a nice warm room with a book and maybe some tea and not waiting for someone to catch a flying golden Christmas ornament. But that's just me, feel free to sit here for hours and hours on end and you can join me later." He smiled pleasantly across to her, gave her a small wave, and then departed.

He didn't know if she shouted after him or not but he could imagine that she was fuming.

Would he have to deal with this later? Certainly.

Was it worth it if he didn't have to watch anymore quidditch? Without a doubt.

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 **Author's Note: For the 1000th review of October by 10th Squad 3rd Seat who asked for something featuring Tom and Minerva. I thought this highlighted their ridiculousness fairly well. Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**


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